


A Christmas Respite

by AnnaFaie



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFaie/pseuds/AnnaFaie
Summary: He’d bought his Christmas gifts online - mostly. There was only one left, one he’d agonised over for weeks. Gareth’s. He didn’t know what to get his manager, wasn’t sure what would convey the precise cocktail of love and respect and ever-growing admiration he felt for the man. Everything he thought of seemed too trite, or too twee, or simply meaningless. With five days until Christmas, he was swiftly running out of time.





	A Christmas Respite

Central London was a bustling, monstrous thing at Christmas. It was too loud and too bright, overwhelming the senses with flashing lights and crowds and too-rich smells of food and coffee. Harry hid his face behind an oversized scarf as he walked down Oxford Street; it was cold, the wind-chill making it seem even colder, giving him the opportunity to be anonymous for the day.

He’d bought his Christmas gifts online - mostly. There was only one left, one he’d agonised over for weeks. Gareth’s. He didn’t know what to get his manager, wasn’t sure what would convey the precise cocktail of love and respect and ever-growing admiration he felt for the man. Everything he thought of seemed too trite, or too twee, or simply meaningless. With five days until Christmas, he was swiftly running out of time.

He dodged a group of Chinese tourists expertly, eyes down, burying himself deeper into the safety of his scarf and the raised collar of his coat. It was starting to rain, a freezing sort of drizzle that was due to last the day.

Stopping briefly, Harry eyed an exquisitely cut brown raincoat in Huntsman’s window. It was a gorgeous thing, and he was fairly certain he could get Gareth’s measurements right. He imagined Gareth in it, the way it would accentuate his waist and shoulders. No. Marks and Sparks would probably annihilate him for that - them, or England’s sponsorship team. Or both.

Clothes were off the list, then, even ridiculously expensive ones. He knew Gareth’s preferred aftershave, but that seemed like the sort of gift your elderly aunt gave you because she couldn’t be bothered to think of something better. Books and music records were not an option either, as he wasn’t sure what Gareth already owned.

A car passed, its lights reflected in the rain, and he caught something glittering on the mannequin next to the one in the suit and overcoat. Cufflinks. He took a step closer, admiring the crisp white shirt. The cufflinks were simple in the way only very expensive things are, gold with a single letter, “H”.

Without thinking, Harry stepped into the warmth of the shop.

“Good evening, sir,” the attendant smiled at him, looking up from where he was sorting through a box of ties. “How can I help you?”

“The gold cuff-links in the window, can I have a look at them, please?”

“Certainly. Give me a moment.”

They were even more beautiful close-up, the metal heavy and cool to the touch. It was the perfect present for Gareth.

“I’ll take them. Could you gift-wrap them for me?”

“Of course, Mr. Kane.”

*

It was the evening of the 23rd, and Harry was early. Gareth’s London apartment was conveniently hidden away in a quiet alleyway, an inconspicuous hideaway for when he needed some peace and quiet, or for those days when he finished work late. Harry had found it cold at first, like a business hotel suite, but with time it somehow became...theirs. There was Harry’s spare umbrella at the entrance, a pair of gloves he forgot last time he was here. Gareth’s car-keys were on the small table, garish Three Lions keying (a birthday gift from Lingard) and all.

“Hey,” Gareth stepped out of the kitchen. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and he carried a bottle of gin in one hand. “I’m making drinks. They might be a tad too strong.”

Harry walked across and placed a finger under Gareth’s chin, pulled him into a chaste kiss with his other hand on the back of Gareth’s neck. He tasted gin and chocolate as Gareth opened up to him, inviting and warm and painfully familiar. Harry nuzzled the manager’s cheek, enjoying the comforting heat of his flushed skin again his own cold face.

“You’ve sampled them, too,” Harry laughed. “What happened to the drinking ban?”

“It’s Christmas. But don’t tell the boys, yeah?”

“I bet Dier gave you that bottle. Bloody alcoholic, him.”

“Couldn’t possibly say. Come on in, let’s get you warm.”

Gareth’s nice silver cutlery and two bowls were out on the dinner table, and Harry smelled some kind of herby stew simmering on the stove. His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d skipped the team lunch in his haste to get into town centre.

“What have I told you about eating regularly?” Gareth murmured, walking up behind him. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling into a proprietary embrace. His arms were a familiar comfort, and Harry exhaled, leaning back into Gareth for a moment. After weeks of hurried meet-ups in a range of corridors and plenty of phone sex, Harry was glad to finally be enclosed in Gareth’s arms.

“Missed you is all,” he confessed. He wanted to say more, about the times he’d thought about Gareth in the shower, the joy Gareth’s brief messages brought him, the anticipation at finding a day to spend together.

“Me, too. It’s been too long.” Harry could feel the rise and fall of Gareth’s chest against his back, the warmth seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. He’d missed that, too, the joy of that simple physical contact, the way it grounded him without fail. “The food will take another hour or so, can you wait?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, twisting to capture Gareth’s lips again, this time more demanding, nipping at the full bottom lip in that way he knew Gareth particularly enjoyed. He felt rather than heard Gareth moan deep in his throat, the reaction sending shivers down his spine. He always found Gareth’s responsiveness exhilarating, the tactility he exhibited with everyone manifesting itself in the most delicious sexual appetite Harry had ever experienced.

Gareth spun him so that Harry was pushed against the tall kitchen bar table, trapped between the marble and Gareth’s body. Gareth’s lips trailed off his mouth, down the column of his neck, settling on his exposed collarbone. He knew he’d have to hide the marks Gareth left for days afterward, knew Gareth was doing this deliberately. Claiming him after their weeks apart.

Fingers finding Gareth’s hair, he pulled his manager closer, the other hand resting on Gareth’s arse, making Gareth arch into Harry and, gods, Gareth was already hard for him. Heat poured into his groin at that realisation, and Gareth looked up from his ministrations, grinning.

“You’re not lying about missing me. I could take you here on the kitchen table, Harry.”

Harry’s breath caught at that, and he grabbed the edges of the bar, holding himself upright for fear of his knees giving out.

“Not even wining and dining me first? I ain’t that easy, gaffer.”

“Aren’t you?” Gareth leaned in, the tips of their noses touching, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I seem to remember you begging for it last time. Keening and desperate to be touched, to be filled. Mine for the taking.”

“Not fair,” Harry managed, and stifled a yelp as Gareth palmed him through the thick wool of his trousers. His other hand dug into Harry’s back, merciless and hungry.

“No, but neither are you, walking in here and...”, a change of pressure, and Harry had to think of the most unarousing things he could imagine. His grandma. Making out with Pickford. Crashing out of the Euro qualifiers. “...looking like that.”

Harry almost sobbed with relief when Gareth’s hand receded, snaking up his side and to his head, fingers running through his hair to pull him into another kiss. He put a gentle hand on Gareth’s chest, pulling away.

“I want you to take your time. I want you on the bed, fucking me until the sun comes up tomorrow morning. Think you can manage that?”

Gareth blinked, then nodded, stepping back. Took a moment to compose himself. It wasn’t easy for the manager, and Harry could see it in Gareth’s eyes, the taunt line of his body.

“We’ll definitely need to eat then. And drink. You’re allowed one today.”

Gareth reached for one of the two glasses and handed it to Harry. The gin was delicious, fruity and sweet, just like the taste of Gareth’s mouth.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” Harry looked at the stove. “What is it?”

“Beef stew - my mum’s recipe. Thought it would be nice on such a cold day. I’ve got fruit for pudding.”

They waited in companionable silence as Gareth finished the meal, Harry swirling the gin around his mouth, savouring each mouthful. After months of being too busy to think, it was peculiar to know he didn’t need to be anywhere until the next evening. That he had an entire 24 hours with Gareth. He wanted, desperately, to wake up next to Gareth, to see his face first thing in the morning, to keep him in bed until lunchtime. It was a strange to realise that despite knowing Gareth intimately, he’d never spent the night next to the man, didn’t know if Gareth was a restless sleeper or a grumpy morning person.

They ate on the sofa, legs tangled as they faced each other, talking about the upcoming games and the traditional - and quite notorious - Three Lions New Year’s Eve Party. Harry informed Gareth there was a mass conspiracy to get Winks blind-drunk and coerce him into singing “Whole Again”, and that Jesse and Marcus were planning to turn up in full drag. Gareth laughed so hard at that he almost choked on his food.

Gareth even allowed Harry to have another gin, and Harry was buzzing with the warmth and the alcohol. He leaned back into the pillows, feeling boneless and sated and too comfortable to want to move. Gareth was sorting out the leftovers, and Harry must have dozed off because he suddenly became aware of a hand on his face, gently rubbing his stubble.

“I must have a word with Poch,” Gareth said quietly. He was sat on the floor next to the sofa, his eyes soft with concern and an emotion Harry couldn’t quite interpret. “He’s working you too hard.”

“Nah. Just too much food is all. Come here.”

And Gareth did, straddling Harry’s thighs in one fluid motion. His hands ran up Harry’s stomach and under his shirt, tickling the sensitive skin on his sides. Harry laughed, trying to double over, and they tumbled off the sofa in a tangled heap, Harry landing on Gareth.

He used the opportunity to pin Gareth down with the sheer bulk of his body, grinding down into the manager. The friction was delicious, his body remembering its long-unmet needs.

“Stop that,” Gareth said, an edge of sternness to his voice.

“First time you’ve complained.”

“If you do that, I won’t last. And I remember you requesting an all-nighter.”

Harry huffed in pretended affront, and rose, offering Gareth his hand. Gareth took it and rose in a fluid motion that made Harry’s heart skip a best.

“I’ve got something for you,” Gareth said, smoothing his trousers down. “A Christmas gift of sorts.”

“I’ve got one for you too.”

Harry fumbled about in his bag: the box with the cufflinks was small, stylishly wrapped in black and silver parchment. He looked up and saw Gareth was holding a gift-box, too, bright red, with a small silver ribbon on top.

“It’s not much, but...”

Harry set his own gift aside for now, carefully peeled the red paper off. The box was plain black, and opened to reveal a white gold bracelet with a plate engraved with the date 22.05.2018.

“Is that...?” he asked.

“The day you were named captain, yes. The best decision I’ve ever made.”

Harry felt a lump form in his throat, and before he could do something silly - like start crying - he handed Gareth his own Christmas present.

“I thought these would look good with your suits.”

Gareth opened the box and looked up at Harry.

“H for Harry. You’re going to be the end of me,” Gareth said, and his voice was hoarse.

“I didn’t know what to get you, so I thought...me. I’m yours. Have been since Russia.”

They stood like that for what seemed like a long time, staring at each other and neither quite knowing what to say. The Christmas lights were reflected in Gareth’s eyes, and the apartment still smelled of the stew. Harry wondered if this could always be like this, comfortable and quiet, hidden away from the world with the one person who made him feel safe.

Finally, Gareth reached for his hand, taking it and twining their fingers. Harry followed him, through the dark corridor and towards the bedroom, his attention honed in on the familiar calluses and the warm skin and the promises held in that touch.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Gareth whispered, leading him in and shutting the door, and the world, behind them.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry replied.

**Author's Note:**

> Hunstsman is a shop on Savile Row, London. 
> 
> The raincoat -https://www.huntsmansavilerow.com/cn/product/camel-ventile-raincoat/
> 
> The cufflinks, albeit I have taken some artistic license when it came to them - https://www.huntsmansavilerow.com/bespoke-cufflinks-created-by-james-de-givenchy/


End file.
